


and the djinni said

by ewelinakl



Series: a modern bestiary [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Growth, F/M, Gentle Sex, Geralt's not over her, Jaskier is wise beyond his years, Yen is jealous and ready to fight for her man, Yen works as a gyn bc of course she does, let strong women be vulnerable 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:35:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23157178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ewelinakl/pseuds/ewelinakl
Summary: He came to her with Jaskier's blessing.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: a modern bestiary [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1608940
Comments: 9
Kudos: 57





	and the djinni said

Yennefer saw him everywhere she went.

He sang at her bars, shopped at her stores, walked her streets. The more she tried to avoid him, the more often she ran into him — alone, with Geralt, or a pretty blonde girl with eyes so blue even his own paled in comparison.

She hated everything about him. She hated his pretty face with those cornflower blue eyes and obnoxiously pink lips. She hated his slim figure and how well his clothes looked on him. She hated his delicate fingers strumming the strings of his guitar or brushing his fair hair away from his forehead. She hated the way he moved, with lightness and grace, as if his feet didn't touch the ground. She hated his voice, rich and sweet like honey.

But what she hated the most was the way Geralt looked at him — as if he were something sacred, a marvel. The way Geralt used to look at her before she hurt him.

She was lonely, but it was her own fault so no one offered her compassion. She was angry because Geralt replaced her so easily while she couldn't move on, constantly tripping on her guilt. And she was tired, so very tired, because she worked long hours at the hospital, taking extra shifts just to not have to return home, to Triss who was so happily in love with Geralt's brother.

It was a cold, misty Monday when she left work early because they had a patient, a woman in her thirties who'd been trying for a baby for years, and this time it seemed like she had a chance, like it could work, but it didn't, and they drove her into the hospital, bleeding and so pale and still. And this was the final straw that sent Yennefer to the floor at the doctor’s lounge, where she began to cry, because this was just too much, all of this was too fucking much. Tissaia sent her home, telling her to rest and pull herself together.

She stopped at a bookstore along the way. Maybe a lightweight novel in the bath by the candles, with a glass of good wine would help a little bit. She doubted it. But it wouldn’t hurt to try.

She was browsing through the fantasy section when she saw him. He was standing by the shelves with historical nonfiction, his fingers brushing along the spines of the books, the way they probably brushed along Geralt’s spine as well. Yennefer let her eyes close, taking a deep breath through her mouth because her nose was still blocked. Of course he would be there. Of course.

She had to do something about it.

She walked up to him before she had time to really think. “So we meet again,” she said, her voice still a little too nasal, but already sharp as a lancet.

“So we do,” he echoed, meeting her eyes. “There’s a nice cafe upstairs,” he said. “Let’s grab a drink.”

She nodded, following him to the check-out where he paid for his book, and then to the cafe upstairs. It was a cozy place with soft, yellow light and comfortable, vintage chairs. Yennefer ordered an Irish coffee for herself because she needed something to steady her nerves. Jaskier ordered a decaf chai latte, which made her scoff.

They sat in silence for a long while, sipping on their drinks, not looking at one another. Yennefer grew angrier and angrier with each passing minute — angry at him for inviting her here, and at herself for agreeing.

“Geralt still loves me,” she spat eventually.

She wanted him to deny it just so that she could prove to him how wrong he was. She wanted him to get upset, defensive, insecure. But he just shrugged ever so slightly, smiling.

“So?” he asked, arching one brow.

He knew Geralt loved her. He wasn’t bothered.

“He loves me,” she repeated. “ _Me_.”

He waved a hand in a dismissive gesture, rolling his eyes. “Please,” he said. “As if he could only love one person at a time. It’s such a tired concept, really. Almost as tired as your edgy bitch attitude. Just because MCR reunited doesn’t mean we can act like we’re thirteen again.”

She scowled at him. “Very funny, Jaskier.”

“Thanks. I do my best.” He smiled, taking a sip of his decaf latte.

Yennefer’s nails tapped against the table in a rhythm of a battle march. She could feel fury buzzing under her skin. She was going to obliterate this fucking twink, she was going to make him regret ever touching her man.

“One day he’ll run into me and you won’t be there,” she said, her voice cold as ice as she looked at him. “What do you think will happen then?”

The corner of his mouth twitched in a brief smile. “He’ll say, ‘I ran into Yennefer today. I thought I was over her, but I’m not. I still want her, despite everything’. He’ll ask me, ‘What should I do?’. And I’ll tell him, ‘Go to her, see what happens’,” Jaskier said. “That’s what I think will happen.”

She stared at him in disbelief, shaking her head. “Say, he comes to me,” she said. “Do you really think he’ll go back to you afterward? That you can win against me?”

Jaskier watched her for a while, his gaze gentle, almost pitying. “Of course he’ll come,” he said softly and she shuddered, hearing the unshakable confidence in his voice. “But I won’t win. This isn't a competition, Yen. If you feel like a loser, it’s only because you’ve convinced yourself you lost.”

_Yen_.

She swallowed hard, blood pounding in her temples. “That’s not what’s gonna happen,” she said, but her words lacked conviction.

Jaskier smiled, his fingertips tracing the edge of his cup. “There’s just one way to find out.”

*

Funnily enough, she stopped seeing him at every corner after that, as if facing him in that stuffy little cafe was enough to banish him from her life, at least temporarily. She was glad about it.

Her life was still an endless cycle of misery, though. She was still lonely, angry, and tired, and barely holding it together. They had seven miscarriages over the next four days and her heart ached every time she looked at her patients. Seven miscarriages, three abortions due to internal defects, one premature birth, one patient diagnosed with ovarian cancer.

"Does it ever get easier?" she asked, looking at Tissaia, her voice trembling, tears threatening to fill her eyes.

Tissaia cracked a tired smile, taking a sip of her coffee — strong, black, no sugar. "It doesn't," she said. "But you get better at ignoring the pain."

When she left the hospital on Thursday evening, it had just begun to snow. She pulled the huge, fur-trimmed hood of her coat onto her hair, looking under her feet to make sure she wouldn't slip in her heels. She should've put on some flats, she knew the weather forecast.

She made her way to the subway station, bending to protect her face and hair from the wind throwing wet snow in her direction. The air was humid and heavy, and she felt so cold. She wanted to be back home already, even if that meant listening to Triss gushing about Eskel.

She loved Triss and was really happy for her, despite everything. It was just that Eskel was Geralt's brother and thinking of Geralt felt like rubbing salt into an open wound. Why did she sleep with Istredd? Why did she keep sleeping with him for months, even though she knew it was bound to end in a disaster? Why?

She was tired and unfocused, and it was hardly surprising that she walked into someone in the end.

"I'm sorry," she muttered, taking a step backward, straight into a small puddle of melting snow. Her heel slid forward, Yennefer lost her balance, and she would've fallen, if it wasn't for two big strong hands taking her by the shoulders, steadying her.

She knew those hands. She knew this coat before her. She knew this scent.

Geralt.

"Are you alright?" he asked, lowering his head to glance under her hood.

She braced herself before meeting his eyes the colour of pale amber, the eyes that used to look at her with so much admiration as if she was a wonder. "Yeah, I'm fine, don't worry," she said.

He still held her by the shoulders. She made no move to escape his hands. She wished he pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. She missed him so much. So, so much.

"Thanks for saving my coat," she said, forcing a pale smile. "I'll see you around, Geralt."

She shrugged ever so slightly and his hands let go of her, leaving her shoulders feeling cold and exposed. She took a deep breath to steady herself, tried to smile once more, and moved past him, feeling her heart sinking.

"Yen," he called after her. She wanted to keep walking. She stopped, glancing over her shoulder. His face was crumpled in an expression she wished she'd never seen. "See you around," he said, looking away 

And then they parted ways.

And she didn't think about him all night afterward.

She didn't.

*

He came two days later, his eyes burning, his hands hot, his mouth hungry.

He came to her.

The thrill of it blinded and deafened her for a second, it made her lose all senses for a short beautiful moment in which Geralt pulled her against him, kissing her just the way he used to before she ruined everything. It was only when their lips parted and they both took a breath that she realised.

He came to her with Jaskier's blessing.

She could smell Jaskier on his hair, feel him in the way Geralt held her in his arms, in the way he touched her back. Jaskier was all over him, all of Geralt was tainted by that little singing bitch, and Yennefer's anger burst ablaze once more as she pushed Geralt towards the bedroom.

Her teeth and nails left marks all over Geralt’s body, long scratches and deep bruises that would take days, weeks to heal, bruises that Geralt could either show to Jaskier or avoid seeing him for a long while. She blew Geralt, knowing that she was far more skilled at this than Jaskier could ever be, she rode him, fast and furious, tightening her muscles around him, making him gasp, she pulled every little stunt, every single trick she had up her sleeve, trying to show Geralt what he’d lost, what Jaskier could never give him. But still, when Geralt bit back, when he fucked her hard, pressing her against the wall, leaving hickeys all over her breasts, she could feel that he struggled to remember how to touch her, that she wasn't his default anymore.

She swallowed hard, biting down on her bottom lip, trying to blink away the tears.

“Yen?” Geralt said softly, pulling out, lowering her so that she could put her feet on the floor. “What’s wrong?” he asked when she pushed him away and crawled into the bed, pulling her knees close to her chest. “Yen, talk to me, please,” he said, kneeling down next to her, trying to meet her eyes, and he seemed so genuinely concerned despite everything.

“It’s nothing,” she said, her voice almost breaking. He still looked her in the eye, he really wanted to know. She shrugged, looking away. "I saw the way you touch him,” she said quietly, half-hoping he wouldn’t hear her. "So tender. So gentle. But with me—" Her voice wavered, but she pulled herself together, swallowed back a sob, raised her head. "With me, you're nothing but rough."

She heard his breath hitching and then his fingers touched her chin, urging her to meet his gaze. “I’m sorry, Yen,” he said, and she hated him for it, she didn’t want anyone’s pity. “I never realised— I thought that this was what you wanted."

She laughed, lowering her forehead to her knees, hugging them tighter to her chest, when the laughter turned into pathetic sobs.

Tissaia would be so disappointed in her for letting a man make her cry.

She didn't cry because of him, though, she cried because she was angry with herself, angry at how stupid she was. Of course he fucked her raw and covered her skin in the abstract art of bruises and bites if she'd never allowed him to be tender with her. She'd been too afraid that with tenderness there would come commitment beyond her capabilities, that if she let him be sweet and gentle with her, he'd demand impossible from her — marriage, home, children; that he'd use the soft touch to crack her heart open and steal her freedom. So she taught him to fuck her by the Hammurabi code — a bite for a bite, blood for blood, she kept him at arm's length just to make sure he wouldn't be able to break her heart.

But Jaskier—

Jaskier was smarter than her. He was braver. He trusted Geralt's love, trusted that he'd come back to him, even given a chance to sleep with other people. He set Geralt free and so he freed himself, too, left a door open in case he ever wanted to use it. She could’ve done the same, if only she wasn’t so afraid of losing Geralt in the process, so insecure and possessive.

She sat up, facing Geralt with his eyes full of remorse, his pursed mouth, his hands hanging in the air, itching to reach to her but unsure, afraid of being pushed away.

All her life she was told that to be strong meant to take what she wanted, to assert dominance and never yield. But maybe it wasn't true, maybe showing vulnerability was a form of strength, too.

"Kiss me, Geralt," she said, wiping her tears away.

He sighed, launching towards her, still on his knees, cupping her face in both his hands, pressing his lips against hers. He kissed her as if it was their first kiss — gingerly, curiously, insatiably. And she loved it, every second of it, and she found herself kissing back with unguarded emotion, with her heart on her sleeve.

She didn't need to own Geralt, to brand him as hers. He was not a piece in a game. They were both free and they could love each other without turning their love into confinement. All she had to do was tell him what she wanted. It had always been that simple.

"Touch me," she whispered against his mouth, "the way you touch him."

He searched her eyes for a trap, but there was none, not anymore. She brushed his cheek with her thumb, smiling before she kissed him again, sweetly, softly, making him gasp.

Who would've thought that touch so gentle could be so powerful?

He trailed kisses down her neck and breasts, leaving no marks this time, just a warm, pleasant tingle. He met her gaze when he settled between her thighs, locking his hands on her hips.

"Teach me, Yen," he said. "Tell me what you want."

She froze in anticipation, spreading her legs wider apart, nodding.

The wet heat of his tongue lapping at her clit sent an electric shock across her spine, making her moan. Geralt pulled her hips down towards him, reaching out to the drawer of her bedside table. She was in a better position to get the lube so she passed it to him, even though she didn't think it necessary, she was wet enough already. She let him have his way, though, a little lube never hurt anybody.

Geralt slicked his fingers before sliding them into her, slowly, searching for her G-spot and then pressing against it like it were a button.

"Yes," she gasped, curling her toes, arching her back. "Yes. Like this."

The broad strokes of his tongue and the steady pulsing of his fingers had her writhing and fisting at the pillows behind her. "Don't stop," she mumbled, shutting her eyes, squeezing her thighs shut against his ears, "please, _please_ , Geralt, don't stop "

He didn't, he drove her to the edge, while she kept begging him to just keep going and feeling no shame about it, no fear that he'd deny her the orgasm that was building up in her underbelly, filling her body with a bright electric current. She almost sobbed when the dam broke, washing her over with light, making her skin sing.

Geralt cupped her face in his hand and kissed her, deeply, ravenously, but without teeth, and she moaned into this kiss, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer, until his chest pressed against hers.

"Fuck me, Geralt," she whispered.

He reached for condoms, putting one on as fast as he could. From the way his breath shook against her neck as he sunk into her, she knew that it was as intense for him as it was for her, that he was as dazed and overwhelmed as she was.

She embraced him tightly, drawing her knees up to her chest, stroking his hair as he drove his hips into hers in steady, measured thrusts. His lips trailed along her neck, wet and gentle, his thumbs played with her nipples, his cock brushed against her front wall, and all of this combined was almost too much, it almost made her want to push him away as she was blinded by another orgasm that lasted and lasted.

When he finished, she was trembling like a leaf underneath him, drenched and blissfully tired. He pressed a kiss against her jaw, before resting his head between her breasts and mumbling, "I love you, Yen."

'And him? Do you love him, too?' she wanted to ask because old habits died hard. She fought against the urge.

She knew the answer to this question. It no longer bothered her.

Geralt's heart was big enough for her and Jaskier to share.

"I love you, too," she said, reaching to stroke his hair, letting her eyes close.


End file.
